


Cold Light of Dawn

by Tarlan



Category: Werewolf: The Beast Among Us (2012)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For twenty-five years, Stefan was the constant in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Light of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Small Fandom Fest FEST12

At ten years of age he'd been a scrawny kid, barely reaching to his mother's shoulders in height. He still recalled that terrible night when the moon shone full, recalling his mother's scared face as she placed his grandfather's wolf talisman around his neck and told him not to be afraid, to be strong, and to stay by the fireplace. The hammering on the door had made him jump, and he had felt the same confusion as his mother upon hearing the frightened woman outside.

At the time he had wondered why his father would not let the woman inside, shooting at her instead to scare her away.

Outside their small cottage, the full moon shone above the canopy of the trees, bathing the forest clearing in silver light. Charles could hear the frightened cry of their horse - tethered, unable to free herself and run from whatever creature was now scrabbling across the roof. His father was frantic by now, aiming up and shooting through the ceiling, and Charles shrank back at the sound of gunfire, wanting to call for his mama. The mare went silent moments before the window crashed inwards, and while they were all froze in shock at the mare's head hurtling across the room, they did not see the dark creature that followed. Large and covered in fur, neither human nor wolf but a supernatural mix of both, it slashed at his mother before turning on his father and throwing him aside like a ragdoll.

With his small hand still clasping the wolf's head talisman, Charles felt frozen with fear as the creature snarled and moved towards him, and in a moment of clarity, he snapped round and brought the heavy wooden chandelier crashing down on top of the creature. A candle tipped over and the flame caught at the rug beneath it.

Charles ran, only stopping when he had reached the tree line, turning to watch his home burn, with the fire taking everything he had ever known.

A sharp sound brought his head round, and he watched as his father stumbled towards him. His father's eyes were wide and yellowed, lips stretched over his teeth and blood dripping from the slash marks across his chest and arm, but his head was at an unnatural angle. He gurgled, frothing at the mouth as he lurched towards Charles with his hands outstretched and curved, claw-like. Charles shrank back.

"Papa?"

The whooshing sound over his head made him gasp as seven or more silver blades thudded into his father's chest in swift succession. A dark-clad figure rushed past and cut off his father's head.

"I hate Verdilacs."

He turned to face Charles, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the moonlight, and his smile revealed wicked incisors. Shocked and yet intrigued too, Charles stood his ground as the man... creature... lifted his father's body as if it were made of air, his eyes following the arc of the body as it was thrown into the burning house.

"Always better to burn the bodies, boy."

Charles blinked because the man was before him now, having moved with supernatural speed, and the man/creature crouched down so their eyes were level. Charles saw his eyes drop to the talisman that he still held tight in his grasp.

"Hmm. A hunter's talisman."

"My grandfather."

"And the werewolf?"

"I... I killed it." Charles pointed to the burning house. "It was a lady."

"Hmm. Impressive. What is your name?" 

"Charles."

The man/creature straightened and started to walk away. Charles turned to watch him leave only to see him pause, sigh, and glance back.

"Well, come on then, young werewolf killer. If you want to be a hunter like your grandfather, then I can teach you everything you need to know."

Charles glanced back at the inferno that used to be his home. His parents were gone and he had no other relatives who would willingly take in an orphan; at least, not in these hard times when money was scarce and people locked their doors on every full moon. He was now alone in the world and had to fend for himself, and though he knew there was something strange about the man who had just saved him, he also knew he had to place his trust somewhere.

Making a decision, he ran after the quickly disappearing figure, and straight into the flank of a dark horse. Mounted on it, the man/creature threw back his head and laughed as Charles fell onto his ass. Then he reached down, grabbing the front of Charles's vest and pulling him up until he was straddling the horse in front of the man/creature.

The horse moved forward with barely a tap to its sides and Charles found himself leaning back into the dark man. Exhausted from the trauma of this night, he slept, but he awoke with the gray, cold light of the dawn.

"May I know your name, sir?"

"Stefan Von..." He grimaced before smiling widely. "Stefan will do."

"May I ask... what you are?"

Stefan laughed. "All in good time, young Charles. All in good time."

****

As promised, Stefan taught Charles everything he knew about hunting werewolves as the years rolled by, until finally acknowledging that his young apprentice had become more than capable of leading whatever motley group Stefan drew together. Charles knew that suited Stefan, aware that the vampire preferred to dispense with the every day tasks and responsibilities of leadership.

Twenty-five years later, Charles knew far more about the supernatural world than most. He had hunted werewolves, and other shapeshifters and supernatural beings through the woods and forests of Transylvania and Banat. He knew that many of the old myths were little more than Old Wives's tales, with Stefan ample proof of that. Charles smiled as he recalled one old conversation.

"I thought vampires couldn't stand the sun?"

"A myth we like to perpetuate."

Most of his current team had been with him for almost two years, though they had lost one of their number during the previous hunt. Throughout those years, Stefan had been his constant companion, father, teacher, brother... lover.

It wasn't love that took him to Stefan's bed whenever the vampire was through entertaining some young man or woman - usually a whore picked up in the local tavern. At first he had crawled into Stefan's bed as a child seeking comfort and protection, curled up against the too-cool body, and Stefan had treated him as a son, allowing the closeness. He had never touched Charles inappropriately as a child; at least not until the day, a few weeks past what would have been his eighteenth year, when Charles had reached for Stefan.

It still wasn't love between them, though he had allowed Stefan to feed off him when there were no others available and he was in need. As always, after Stefan had sated his twin hungers for blood and lust, he would stroke a gentle finger down Charles's face.

"One day soon, I will see you turned into one of my kind."

"I still don't want it."

Stefan would laugh before settling against Charles's back. It did not seem to matter that Charles was no longer a scrawny boy but a big man - tall and strong. Stefan liked to wrap himself around Charles as if still trying to protect the small child that he had taken under his wing.

"Ah! But will you have the choice?"

No. It wasn't love but it was something close to it.

This latest werewolf hunt had taken a lot from them, and Charles's broken arm ached from the bad fall only yesterday. His chest ached too, bruised from where the old doctor had shot him to protect this different kind of werewolf that could turn at will, without the need of the full moon. Daniel. All Charles wanted to do now was convince Stefan that they should bring Daniel with them, and ride away from this place. He knew it would take a little persuading as Stefan had a hatred for werewolves that he had refused to explain even after all these years. 

"Where _is_ Stefan?" Charles asked, looking around the ruins surrounding their makeshift camp while wondering why Stefan had not yet returned. It was already into the darkest hours just before the dawn, and Stefan rarely spent the whole night with whatever man or woman he had chosen to drink from and make love to that night.

Daniel looked up from his place by the fire, drawing Eva closer to his side.

"He's dead. Turned to dust."

Charles felt his heart miss a beat. "You saw this happen?"

Daniel licked his lower lip, looking guilty and yet defiant. "Yes."

"Charles?"

He brushed off Kazia's concern and pushed up, walking several feet away from the fire to a secluded spot where he had set out his bed roll next to Stefan's in preparation for sleep. He knew this day would come and the sense of loss almost overwhelmed him. Carefully, he lowered himself down, hissing at the throbbing from his broken arm. Reaching into the saddlebag, he withdrew a small flask and opened the lid, pausing a moment in thought before he raised it to his lips.

He had never wanted this while Stefan lived but he craved it now. The blood was thick and cloying, coating his tongue, and he swallowed it down with a shudder of revulsion, feeling it coil inside him like a living entity.

It took a while to fall asleep, but when he did finally sleep, he dreamed of a cool body pressed against his back, and cold arms wrapped around him. And when he awoke in the cold light of the dawn, Charles met the new day with fresh eyes.

Vampire eyes.

END


End file.
